


What Spring Does With the Cherry Trees

by orphan_account



Series: Agents and Ministers of Grace [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A falling out, a falling in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Spring Does With the Cherry Trees

To call it a bad day would have been grossly understating it. 

Peggy had found herself questioning Jarvis’s loyalties and Howard Stark’s motives, and on top of it had subjected herself to professional humiliation in order to protect the both of them, because she had no choice. She was too entangled with them at this point. She never questioned her own competence, yet here she was, with half the office whispering behind her back, poking at every insecurity she thought she’d left for dead in the dirt on the battlefields of Europe. 

She was lounging around in her apartment, half-undressed, turning the whole thing over restlessly in her mind, feeling sick, angry, nervous and afraid. The one person she could trust, the one place she thought was a safe place, had been thrown into question. 

She’d thrown a record on, not even really looking consciously at what it was. As the scratchy jazz came through the speakers, she breathed a sigh of mild annoyance. 

“ _You see me when you please,_ _and think it’s right /_ _that I should stay at home every night /_ _If this is all in sight, / I don’t want your kind of love…”_

And as if on cue, a furious knocking came at the door, so loud that Peggy that almost jumped out of her chair. It had to be Angie. 

That Peggy had lost her one safe place -- well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Angie was a safe place. The question was whether Peggy was a safe place for Angie. 

She threw on a robe, secured a few of her more private belongings, and opened the door. Angie swept in like a comet. “Oh, I’ve been on my feet so long I think I’m sprouting roots!” 

“Sorry, Angie,” Peggy answered, watching her blow past and head straight for the day bed. She began to fashion some reason why she couldn’t talk now, but Angie needed to vent about her rotten day. 

“A whole fifty cents in tips!” she griped, perched on the edge of the mattress. She looked as close to tears as Peggy had seen her. “The war is over. I thought we were spending money again.” 

Peggy wanted to wrap her up in her arms and take her on vacation someplace warm, lounge in the sun wearing matching pairs of pointy sunglasses and drinking drinks with little umbrellas in them. 

She also desperately wanted Angie to leave, because she nearly embarrassed herself after dinner last night. The longing she felt for this girl, this pretty little spark that had lodged herself in Peggy’s heart, was becoming harder to contain, and she was afraid of blowing everything; their friendship, her cover, not to mention putting Angie’s safety at risk. 

Angie stopped, realizing she’d made perhaps too dramatic an entrance. “How was your day?” 

Peggy sighed. What could she say that wouldn’t be a lie? Part of her didn’t want to lie to this girl anymore. A large part. “Fifty cents in tips would have been a considerable improvement.” 

Angie’s face lit up like a kid’s. “I’ve got a bottle of schnapps and half a rhubarb pie, let’s see which makes us sick first!” She wanted to share, to commiserate, to shed their mutual misery together. And Peggy did too. Worse than anything. 

But she was feeling fragile, and schnapps seemed like a bad idea. Schnapps could lead to more schnapps, which could lead to Agent Carter embarassing herself. “It sounds lovely,” Peggy hedged, squirming uncomfortably. “But I was just about to go to bed.” 

“Aw, c’mon Grandma,” Angie teased, her eyes sparkling with a merriment and (oh God, could it be?) a drop of flirtation. “It’s only eight o’clock. Tell me about your crappy day.” 

Peggy resisted. “I’m -- I’m really tired,” she lied, knowing she was painfully transparent. “Maybe some other time.” 

Angie’s face turned hurt. She drew herself up and started to march out, grumbling, “I know a brush-off when I see one.” Peggy stood marveling at how quickly that had gone to hell, even as she pleaded with Angie to...To what?. Stay, go, good God, she didn’t even know what she wanted anymore apart from not wanting to see the hurt look on Angie’s face, and not wanting to be the cause of it. 

 

*** 

 

Coming to terms with Krzeminski's murder was surprisingly hard for Peggy. She had absolutely not one good feeling for the man, and if asked, would have probably only grudgingly allowed that he was alright at his job. But as she was discovering, it was also a reminder of the dangers of the job. 

And worse, while the man was a boor and a cheat, she couldn't deny that she bore some partial responsibility for his death, a position she had never wanted to be in. That was probably the part that weighed on her the most and strained her near to breaking. 

She remembered what Jarvis had said to her as he was patching up her leg not too long ago; that nobody does it alone, that even Steve had needed her. And so, she ironically found herself making her way toward the Automat, toward the one person she knew she could trust: Angie. 

Angie's initial cool reception melted away as Peggy said shakily, "I thought I might tell you about my day." 

Yes, she left out a great deal, but just... to unburden herself at all, to someone who wanted nothing more than to be there for her, felt like a refuge. When Peggy told her that one of her colleagues had died on the job, Angie looked like she wanted to lean across the counter and hug her. "Oh, honey," she sighed sympathetically, and for Peggy, at that moment, it was everything. She didn't have to be tough as nails. 

Peggy stayed and closed the place down with her. She couldn't stand the thought of being alone now, and Angie didn't particularly seem to want her to leave. 

They walked back to Griffith together, arm in arm, Angie chattering away about her cousin who'd gotten killed knocking over a newsstand, the things she'd read in the papers this morning about how they were planning to connect the subway lines  with a new crosstown train, and as they strolled slowly through Gramercy's ivy-covered blocks with the cool, damp night air on their cheeks, she began talking about the stone lions in front of the big library in midtown and how much she always liked them. 

"Yes, I've seen them," Peggy agreed, "they're quite impressive." She mused briefly that this was an odd turn for Angie to take, but she was grateful to have her setting the conversation no matter where it was going. 

It turned out Angie knew quite a bit about the lions: when they were built, who designed them, why they were lions to begin with rather than any other beast, or for that matter, a person. Peggy was impressed, listening to her talk as they climbed the stairs to their floor. 

When they reached Angie's door, this time, Peggy didn't have the strength to go back to her own room. She accepted Angie's offer of schnapps and headed inside. She kicked off her shoes and wandered over to Angie's record player, looking for something to put on, while Angie broke out the bottle and two little glasses. 

"You're probably wondering why I've got the library lions on the brain," Angie remarked while she poured. 

"Actually," Peggy admitted, dropping a Perry Como record on the player, "I rather was." 

Perry began to croon: 

" _Till the end of time / Long as stars are in the blue / Long as there's a spring, / a bird to sing / I'll go on loving you..."_

Angie quirked an eyebrow at Peggy's selection, but said nothing. She walked over to where Peggy had flopped down onto the day bed, handed her a glass and sat down. Peggy sipped  at it. It was peach. It was disgusting and too sweet and she didn't care. Angie was looking at her intently. It was a lot of work to hold on to that glass just now. 

"Well, I went by there the other day. After you took me out." 

"Did you really." 

"I did. And one of the ladies there was very helpful, and she helped me find this poem I was looking for." 

"Did she." Peggy felt her heartbeat stumble and waver for a moment. 

"She did." Angie sipped her schnapps, eyes fixed on Peggy and not breaking away. "Time's winged chariot hurrying near, huh?" 

"What?" Peggy felt her cheeks grow warmer. 

"When I invited you in, the other night, you said no. You said, 'had we but world enough, and time,' right? And I thought, that sounds like one of your poems. So I went to the library and found it." 

That softness came into Angie's look, that aching look that drove Peggy crazy. 

"Andrew Marvell," Angie pursued. "And it turned out the whole thing is about a guy trying to get his girlfriend to make love to him." 

"You don't say." She couldn't stop looking at her, couldn't stop wondering if her lips were as soft as they looked. 

"Because, you know, we only get so much time in our lives, so we might as well enjoy what we get." 

"Mmhmm," Peggy agreed, barely hearing her anymore. 

"Time's winged chariot hurrying near, that's what that means," Angie repeated. 

The verses slipped from Peggy's lips as if she were dreaming them: " _And though we cannot make our sun/Stand still, yet we will make him run."_

Angie set her glass on the windowsill, her hand settling like a butterfly on Peggy's shoulder. "I sure hope I'm reading you right, Peg, or else I'm about to embarrass the crap outta myself," she whispered. She tucked her legs up under herself, and leaned forward. 

Peggy felt her heart squeeze in on itself as she went still, hardly daring to believe what was happening: Angie's lips, as soft as she'd imagined them, were resting lightly against hers, her sweet breath coaxing Peggy for more. She gently pulled Angie's tender lower lip with her teeth, smiling giddy and foolish at the little sigh it earned her, and whispered, "No, you've read it exactly right," before pushing in and letting herself savor her sweet, pretty mouth. 

She tasted like peach, and her tongue was as soft and wet and yielding as one. Her mouth was rich and sweet and giving. Peggy's English reserve clattered to the floor along with her schnapps glass. They mumbled each other's names into each other's mouths, devouring them slowly, pulling the pins from each other's hair to run their fingers through it. Peggy's fingers flitted over Angie's cheeks, down the sides of her neck, stopping at the neckline of her uniform. She wanted to tear it off and feel all of her skin. 

"How did you know?" she whispered. 

"Honey," Angie whispered back, between long, deep kisses, "You couldn't have been more obvious if you were trying." 

Peggy flushed, hiding it in another deep kiss, before replying, "Really? I thought I was being quite restrained." 

Angie wound her fingers into Peggy's chestnut waves, gently pulling her head back and exposing the tender skin of her throat, laying gentle kisses and nips down it. Peggy exhaled deeply and Angie smiled, nuzzling happily at her neck. "Oh, silly English. Dinner at Chez Rousseau? Reciting me romantic poetry?" She pulled back to look at her affectionately. "What part of that is restrained?" 

Peggy slipped her fingers through Angie's hair, smiling with embarrassment. Her heart was singing, her stomach soaring as if she was plunging from the top of a Ferris wheel that was whizzing around far too quickly. "That was restrained compared to what I want to do. What I've wanted to do for a long time." 

Angie leaned in again, kissed Peggy on the chin, toyed with the top button of her pink silk blouse. "Oh yeah?" Her voice got low and silky. "What's that?" 

Peggy looked at her, those clear blue eyes all drowsy with desire. "I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees," she murmured, and Angie kissed her when she said this, with enough passion to bowl her backward onto the bed. 

She lay happily under Angie's delicious weight for several minutes, exchanging long kisses, enjoying the feel of her soft, small breasts pressed against her own. But after a few minutes, despite her growing arousal, she stopped. "Angie," she said very seriously. "I... I don't want you to get hurt." She meant this in more ways than one.

Angie gave her a sad smile. "If I had a nickel for every time a girl told me that..." 

"Yes?"

 "I'd have about thirty cents." 

"You could ride the subway with that," Peggy joked. 

Angle kissed her. "I'd rather ride you," she replied saucily. 

Peggy kissed back. "And... I... I want that... and you... more than you can imagine-" 

"I can imagine a lot." 

"But... I just want to be...careful. I don't want to go too quickly and muck it all up." 

Angie stroked her hair. "Peg, if this moment right now is all I ever get, that's alright. Just promise you won't stop being my friend." 

"I promise." Another kiss. "I should go."

"Stay," Angie whined. 

Peggy ran a hand down Angie's back and enjoyed the little shiver it produced. "Maybe next time." Another kiss, Peggy reaching her tongue into Angie's mouth, memorizing her taste and feel, her scent, those intoxicating little moans she would make. "Besides," she added after coming up for air, "it'll give us something to look forward to." 

Angie, propped up on one elbow, traced a finger over Peggy's lips. "Alright, beautiful. We've got world enough, and time, right?" 

Peggy smiled. She would have trouble getting to sleep tonight, and it would be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> This catches us up to where the series is. The next installment will come in the next few days after tonight's episode.
> 
> The Chapter title, and Peggy's quote, come from "Every Day You Play," by Pablo Neruda.


End file.
